


That's What Partners are For

by elaine



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky is determined to get out of hospital, no matter what Hutch thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Partners are For

**Author's Note:**

> My other Starsky & Hutch story.

"Aw, come on Hutch. You're my partner. You gotta help me out here." Starsky tried his best pleading look, but Hutch's blue eyes remained adamant. "Okay, I'll just do it on my own."  
  
His partner stood back with arms crossed over his chest and lips pressed tightly together. Not talking, not arguing because he'd finally learned from experience that it would only make Starsky more determined than ever. Well, Starsky could work with that. He hoped. Either that of fall flat on his face the moment he stood up.  
  
Sitting up was... well, he managed it, then sat for a while until the room steadied. His clothes were in the locker, which meant bending over, and that could be a challenge. Starsky slid off the edge of the bed and took a firm hold of the locker before opening the door and reaching in for his clothes. That went better than he'd expected.  
  
Shorts and jeans first. There was something about those hospital gowns that made a guy feel damn insecure. It was the T-shirt that gave him the most trouble; the moment's disorientation as he dragged it over his head threatened to become permanent. Starsky grabbed at the edge of the bed and then tugged the hem down hurriedly. He could feel himself weakening with each passing second. Maybe he could do without the shirt. And the shoes.  
  
"I'm ready now." He staggered slightly as he walked to the door, hoping like Hell that Hutch would at least bring the shoes and shirt along, but determined to get out, even if he had to leave them behind. He was aware of the glare that was trying to burn the back of his neck, but he ignored it. He needed all his concentration just to stay on his feet and he had a pretty good idea that Hutch was just waiting for the chance to drag him back into his room and tie him to the bed.  
  
The hallway seemed endless, but at least when he got into the elevator he could lean against the wall for a few precious seconds. Hutch was standing as far away from him as possible, silently advertising the fact that he was taking no responsibility for his partner's behaviour. But he was holding Starsky's shirt and shoes. That was encouraging. It meant he thought Starsky might actually make it out of the hospital. Starsky wasn't so sure.  
  
Hutch's car was parked, mercifully, near the entrance. Starsky sank into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. He'd made it. Even if he fell on his nose getting out, Hutch would probably just take him into his apartment instead of bringing him back here.  
  
*  
  
"Wake up. We're home." They were the first words Hutch had spoken to him since the argument in the hospital room.  
  
Home meant... Starsky opened his eyes and saw the familiar frontage of his apartment building. Okay! He opened the car door, swung his feet out and stood. The next few moments were a blur, and when they were over, Hutch was hauling him to his feet. "Didn't I tell you?"  
  
"Yeah. You told me all right." Starsky grinned affectionately up at his partner. Now that he'd got his own way, he was prepared to admit he might just have been wrong and Hutch right. "You really told me, partner."  
  
Hutch was  _not_  appeased. "And don't you forget it."   
  
"All right, all right..." With Hutch's hand under his armpit, Starsky managed the steps into the building then leaned heavily against his partner while the elevator took them to his floor.  
  
The hallway had never looked longer than it did right now, but somehow he made it. As soon as they got inside, Hutch dragged him into the bedroom and dropped him on the bed. Starsky lay in dazed relief while Hutch removed his jeans and pulled the covers over him. He didn't even remember closing his eyes.  
  
*  
  
Even after the events of the past few days, nothing could stop Starsky's natural reflexes from kicking in. He came awake at the sound of someone moving in his room. He opened his eyes a fraction to see Hutch, bare-chested, blond hair tousled, heading for the bathroom. He relaxed again, turning his head to look towards the window, where a gap between the curtains allowed the greyish light of early morning to shine through.  
  
The sound of the toilet flushing reminded him that he'd need to get out of bed soon, and Starsky wondered idly if he could make it that far. He struggled into a sitting position and swung his feet to the floor, with much the same results as the previous night.  
  
"What are you doing?" Hutch was standing in the doorway, looking resigned.  
  
"I need to go to the john." Starsky got unsteadily to his feet. His whole body ached. "You wanna give me a hand?"  
  
A gleam in Hutch's eyes told him that he should have phrased that a little better, but Hutch simply came over and helped him as far as the bathroom door without commenting. "You're on your own from here."  
  
Luckily the bathroom was small enough that Starsky was never more than arm's length from a wall. He managed to relieve himself, wash his hands and face and even, major achievement, to brush his teeth. Hutch was waiting for him when he opened the door.  
  
It was a relief to fall back onto the bed and let his fogged brain recover. Hutch stood looking down at him. "I guess you shouldn't be left alone."  
  
"Nah, I'm all right." Starsky waved a negligent hand. "Don't take the day off on my account."  
  
"And if you need to go to the bathroom again?" When he didn't answer, Hutch turned and went back into the lounge. Starsky heard him talking quietly and then he was back. "I've called the station and told them we won't be in today."  
  
Starsky looked at Hutch's tired face and shadowed eyes and decided not to argue. "Why don't you get some more sleep. It's still early."  
  
"It's nearly eight thirty. Besides..." Hutch made a face and rubbed his lower back, "that couch of yours..."  
  
He'd slept on it himself a few times, when he'd been too drunk to make it to the bedroom. Maybe the relaxing effects of alcohol had helped. Starsky grinned and patted the empty space beside him. "Well, sleep here. There's plenty of room."  
  
Hutch eyed him suspiciously, but shrugged and ambled over to the other side of the bed and flopped down beside him. "Just don't go telling everyone at the station that we're sleeping together."  
  
"Would I do that?" Starsky yawned and snuggled a bit further under the covers. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.  
  
*  
  
Something was wrong. Not really wrong, as in serious trouble, but  _wrong_. There was a warm body beside him and smooth skin under his cheek and his hand. He didn't remember getting lucky last night. Sleepily, he nuzzled the soft warmth beneath his cheek and sighed. His companion didn't stir.   
  
Abandoning the attempt to remember who she was, Starsky stroked the warm skin of her waist lazily, sliding down until they encountered stiff denim. That should have warned him, he realised later, but it didn't. Foiled by the cloth, his hand crept upwards over flat belly and ribcage while his lips brushed downwards from shoulder to nipple. There was no welcoming softness there, only hard flat planes of muscle. Then he remembered. It was Hutch who was on the bed with him. Hutch.  
  
Starsky caught his breath in shock. He was trying to make out with his partner. Who, for all the pretty blond curls and blue eyes and angelic smile, was still extremely male. And what made it worse was that even knowing that, the sleepy pleasure he'd found in those few brief touches was enough to make him want to continue.  
  
He couldn't do that. It was wrong. He wasn't into men. Hutch would kill him. Instinctively Starsky tensed up, pulling away from Hutch in an effort to put significant space between their bodies. Hutch muttered softly in his sleep and leaned into him.  
  
There were only two options that Starsky could see. Get out of bed entirely and hope he could make it as far as the couch unaided. Or stay. Stay, and try to ignore the extra warmth creeping through him at the feel of another man's body against his own. He couldn't even offer himself the excuse that it was too long since he'd last got laid. It had only been a few days, which was a long time, sure, but not nearly long enough to explain  _this_.  
  
He eased back into Hutch's side, even rested his cheek on Hutch's shoulder again. It would be okay. After all, it wasn't like he had the energy to get it up. Hutch never had to know what his partner was feeling right now, and it was probably only some weird reaction to almost having been killed. In a couple of days it would be over.  
  
Yeah. So why not make the most of it now? Starsky inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of Hutch's favourite cologne and the sharp tang of sweat and cordite. He reflected that those mingled scents told him everything about Hutch that he would ever need to know. Essence of Hutch. Starsky smiled drowsily and kissed the smooth skin again.  
  
Hutch sighed.  
  
Starsky's fingers traced an aimless pattern over Hutch's ribs. So good... so  _very_  good... before he knew it, his lips were closed around a high, puckered nipple and he was sucking contentedly as a baby at its mother's breast.   
  
Beneath him Hutch stirred then settled again, moaning softly. He ought to stop. He ought to stop right now. But he didn't. It was all the more wonderful for being so totally forbidden, and yet it also felt so completely right.  
  
It wasn't until a hand brushed gently against his back that he knew that Hutch was awake, and probably had been for a while. The smart thing to do would be to acknowledge that fact; to lift his head and look Hutch in the eye and then kiss him on the perfect Cupid's Bow of his lips. Starsky just kept on sucking.  
  
His hand was moving slowly, caressing Hutch's side, never dipping below the level of the jeans, or higher than the third rib. Hutch's hand, warm on his back, pressed him closer. If he'd thought about where this was leading, Starsky would probably never have dared to touch his partner like this. He didn't think. All he could do was feel – warmth and comfort and pleasure – without allowing his mind to interfere.  
  
Suddenly Hutch stirred beneath him and Starsky froze. But all Hutch did was to roll them both onto their sides and slide fingers into his hair to guide Starsky to the other nipple. The silence in the bedroom had given way to quiet sounds of pleasure and the rustling of bedding and clothes as their bodies stirred restlessly.  
  
Hutch's skin was as soft and as smooth as any woman's, but laid over firmer muscle – somehow more substantial beneath his stroking fingers. Starsky brushed the length of Hutch's spine and felt his friend and partner shiver. Then, finally, he could do what he'd wanted to do since the moment he'd realised Hutch was awake. He lifted his head and smiled uncertainly into angelic blue eyes, and kissed Hutch on the lips.  
  
Those lips were warm, but nothing compared to the sweet dark heat of Hutch's mouth. Starsky accepted the implicit invitation and felt liquid fire pool in his belly at the slip-slide of tongue against his own. They were lying close, chest pressed against chest, hands clutching eagerly, with only inches separating their lower bodies. Hutch had begun to tremble under his touch, and the tremors only fed the excitement building between them.  
  
Finally the moment which Starsky had been anticipating with guilty longing arrived. Hutch moaned softly and arched his back under Starsky's touch. A quick glance confirmed what the sound had already told him – beneath the faded denim lay a thick line of arousal. He looked up again to find Hutch watching him, eyes questioning, waiting to see what he would do.  
  
"It's all right." Starsky touched the trapped erection almost gingerly. "It's all right."  
  
His fingers were trembling helplessly as he fumbled the button free and tugged at the zipper. It rasped downwards almost reluctantly and the moment he'd got it far enough, Starsky abandoned the metal tag. The thin cotton shorts were easier to manage, and the heat he felt radiating through them was all the incentive Starsky needed anyway. He laid his hand over the hard dick and felt the soft, heavy throb of Hutch's heartbeat against his palm.  
  
He'd never touched another man's dick before, never particularly wanted to, but this was Hutch, and somehow, with Hutch, anything was possible. Nothing could be wrong in this, not when it was Hutch. Cautiously, Starsky wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft and stroked.  
  
"Oh God!" Hutch smothered his cry against Starsky's mouth, tongue thrusting urgently before withdrawing. "Starsky, you..."  
  
He allowed Hutch to roll him onto his back and peel the T-shirt off. Their lips clung again, briefly, then Hutch kissed a rambling trail down to Starsky's nipple.   
  
So this was what Hutch had felt… Starsky couldn't remember feeling anything so intense, so perfect. None of his girlfriends had ever done this for him and he'd never particularly wanted them to. Never thought that it could feel as good for a guy as it so obviously did for a girl. God, what he'd been missing out on all these years… he grabbed at Hutch's head, holding it there and barely felt the covers being drawn back and his shorts pushed down.  
  
He felt it when Hutch touched him, though… hot jabs of pleasure that made him groan helplessly, even though he wasn't hard, and probably couldn't get it up to save his life. The gentle stroking and tugging had little effect, except to send shimmering waves of pleasure through his body. For a moment Starsky's hands stilled on Hutch's body, until Hutch thrust into his slackened grasp.  
  
Starsky's fingers were slippery with pre-cum now, allowing for a slick easy glide. The fact that it was Hutch's dick in his hand and not his own hardly seemed to matter. The heat, the hard resilient flesh… it  _felt_  almost as if he was pleasuring himself. Instinctively, his hand moved faster as Hutch responded. Starsky knew just what would please him – the same things he did to please himself. It was all so easy.  
  
At the last moment, Hutch lifted his head from Starsky's chest and fastened upon his mouth, muffling his cry as he came. Scalding spunk cooled rapidly on Starsky's arm and belly as Hutch collapsed against him, shaking. Hutch's fingers were still absently stroking his soft, swollen dick and his body ached pleasantly. He lay smiling, listening to Hutch's sobbing breaths and waiting for his partner to recover.  
  
Maybe he should be bothered about this, neither of them were homos, after all. But he knew that everything was going to work out okay. Nothing they could do would threaten the friendship they both treasured, or the partnership which had gone far beyond friendship and which they would both die rather than lose. So he lay still, stroking Hutch's back, no more than mildly curious about what might happen next.  
  
Of course, nothing much  _did_  happen. Hutch gradually relaxed as his heartbeat slowed, then lifted his head to exchange a long, satisfied look which said more clearly than words that nothing had changed – that  _everything_  had changed; and that it was okay.


End file.
